She looked forward to proving him wrong; to cracking open that mysterious door and unveiling whatever it was they were all concealing. If Boone was down there, she’d lunge for the door, if she had to. If it was Wick or Sagara, she’d talk her way past them. And in the end she would point at the thing and say, “Is this what you call nothing? Is that the thing worth killing for?”

She couldn’t conceive of what it could be. She only knew that if she didn’t find out, she’d be stuck in this hamster wheel of fear and uncertainty for the rest of the journey home.

If we ever make it home, came her dark and unbidden thought, then.

She walked for a long time with nothing but shadows to accompany her. It was a little strange that they hadn’t put a guard on something that even Fulbreech was eager to keep hidden—but Park told herself that she ought to feel grateful. And humans had to sleep, too. Even the androids were inactive for longer periods of time now, without Reimi—to slow their eventual deterioration.

But as time went on, she began to wish for a little company, something to direct her irritation and energy towards. For some sign of other life on the ship. It was too quiet—she could barely even hear her own footfalls. And as she made the descent down the hatch to Deck C, the corridor to the utility rooms suddenly seemed unfamiliar to her. She hadn’t paid enough attention when Jimex was in the lead. Thankfully, it was not as dark as the first time she had made the trip, but the hall’s turns and angles made Park feel like she was being led up, not down. The path stretched ahead of her like a long, gray snake.

This isn’t the way, Park thought, confused. I made a wrong turn somewhere.

But she forced herself to go on. She was sometimes easily disoriented, especially when the artificial gravity was on. Even now she felt the wave of nausea, the stomach-lurching dizziness. She was Earth-born; her senses were unused to helping her navigate the dense warrens that formed the innards of spaceships. She told herself that if she kept following the corridor, she would eventually reach a part of the Deucalion that she recognized.

Onward she climbed. Gradually Park’s sense of unease—and her conviction that she was in the wrong part of the deck—grew. The air here was humid, warm, almost stale—and she remembered how cold and lightless the trek had been the first time. She had the eerie feeling that the floor and walls were moving around her. Not rotating, as some parts of the ship did, but . . . heaving?